


Breakfast

by snarknoir19



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Mission Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:41:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26341318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarknoir19/pseuds/snarknoir19
Summary: How it started.
Relationships: Natasha Romanov/T'Challa (Marvel), T’Challa/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 7
Kudos: 30





	Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> Another quick idea which needs some suggestions to flesh out properly.

T’Challa arrived in time to watch his friend and teammate take her shot. 

He stepped out of the deep folliage and out onto the grassy overlook.

She was laying prone atop the grassy promontory that overlooked the bridge and the river that cut through the craggy landscape to merge with the narrow bay. 

She was propped on her elbows and sighting in her target. Red hair pulled back into a ponytail. Glistening in the late morning sunlight. T’Challa noted the thermos of coffee setting on the ground near her left elbow. 

It was probably her breakfast. 

Natasha, he’d learned, could develop a single minded focus during missions and was more than capable of neglecting ‘nonessential’ things like proper nutrition. 

He would make sure they stopped somewhere for food after this. 

The breeze was gentle and barely swayed the tall grass around them. It was peaceful really. Or, it would be if they weren’t here to deal with hostile forces. 

Those same hostile forces were still some way off but drawing slowly nearer. Moving unwittingly closer and closer to their destination with The Black Widow. 

T’Challa knelt beside her and sighted through her spotter’s scope.

The wind would be sharper down there by the bridge he knew. Factoring the elevation, the distance, wind shear, and speed of the target. Along with the small window of opportunity this would be a world class shot.

He also knew the caliber of his teammate’s skills. She was a truly excellent marksman. Gifted. She would factor in the conditions. Everything would be taken into account. This was the Black Widow after all.

She adjusted her position slightly. 

2000 meters down the slope from their elevated location a dark line of vehicles snaked its way along a narrow dirt road approaching the bridge that spanned the deep ravine. 

Ten trucks. Green tarpaulins stretched taut over concealed cargo. 

“If I make this shot; you buy me breakfast.” Natasha spoke, never taking her eyes from her target. 

It was the first she’d spoken since his arrival at the rendezvous. 

She hadn’t so much as stirred but kept her focus trained on the scene below. The Finnish built Sako she held was an extension of her body. 

Interesting he mused. If she meant tomorrow then she was flirting. If she meant today, then she was hungry. It might be dangerous to play her game. 

“You make that shot and I will take you anywhere you like.” Hell with it: You only live once, he reasoned.

“1200 meters, downhill, light crosswind. Target exposed for a half second.” She muttered the conditions. He wondered if it was for his benefit. Or maybe just the remnants of her training with the red room.

She would time the crazy shot so that the bullet would impact when the lead vehicle was halfway across the bridge. There was a narrow window of opportunity during which the vehicle’s tires would be fully exposed by a gap in the bridge side rails.

Moving at their present speed she would have a half second of exposure.

Now 1,700 meters down range the vehicles trundled along the narrow, rutted roadway.

It was peaceful really. A procession of heavily laden trucks making their way along a track. Routine. 

1500 meters. A covey of birds, pigeons, erupted from beneath the bridge and whirled high into the sky before arcing around and down returning to the bridge. 

1400 meters. 

“I might want a gyro.”

He glanced down at her. 

“For breakfast?” 

“Of course not. Dinner.”

“So I’m taking you out to dinner as well?”

“It’s a very difficult shot.”

“Very well.” He thought for a moment. And then: “I suppose you mean in Greece?”

1300 meters.

“You said ‘anywhere.’”

1250

“Then I guess we go to...”

“Shshshsh.”

1200 meters. The truck approached the halfway point. T’Challa noticed how very small the opening looked. 

The stillness was shattered by the shot. 

Moments later the front driver side tire on the lead vehicle ruptured and the car swerved to a stop. 

Which effectively halted the caravan of trucks and SUVs following behind. It was too far away to hear but T’Challa knew tensions would be high down there. 

Natasha had timed everything rather perfectly and the line of vehicles was jammed on the low bridge. Trailing behind them were the police and ahead of them were the civilian villagers forewarned of the caravan’s arrival. T’Challa wasn’t sure which was more dangerous for the men in that convoy: The police force that was slowly advancing on their position or the angry, and armed, villagers who were taking a stand against the rogue squadron of soldiers from the country’s military. Like his partner he didn’t care much either way. The soldiers had disgraced themselves long ago. 

T’Challa had come to extract the Black Widow. This little operation had been carried out covertly for the past few days and this was the final piece. The locals would handle it from here.

“Well that seemed a bit anticlimactic.” She commented watching through her scope. 

The local officials had converged. Mercenaries were exiting vehicles and throwing up their arms while around them the local police officials were waving documents and gesturing sharply. 

T’Challa studied the scene while Natasha dismantled and meticulously repacked her rifle. 

The villagers were crossing the bridge now and cheering the turn of events.

He felt Natasha move to stand next to him and it did not escape his notice that she was close enough that he could feel her warmth. 

“So are you taking me out to eat or not?”

She nudged him with her shoulder. It was probably unintentional that she paused there with her breast grazing the back of his arm. 

Probably. He figured. 

“To Greece, then.” Said he, ambling off toward where his private aircraft; The Royal Talon, sat concealed. 

It was a small affair. Room for two up front and seating for two more in the rear. He watched while she climbed in and secured her items in a hold before taking a seat beside him. T’Challa boarded and settled into the pilot seat. At a little over 20 feet long the craft was a sleek ship. It looked like something from a sci-fi movie and was armed to the teeth. It was also the fastest fighter craft in the skies, anywhere, and entirely invisible to surveillance when operating in stealth mode. And T’Challa was quite proud of it having helped with the design specifications. 

He was aware of Natasha watching him bring the drive system online and knew she was watching his movements closely.

“No.” He spoke firmly. 

“‘No’ what?”

“No, you cannot fly her.”

“Her...” He didn’t need to glance over to know she was giving him a look. 

“...So what’s ‘her’ name?” She asked with a voice laced with humor and something more.

After a moment’s pause he told her but only in his native Xhosa. Which he pronounced fondly and with a private smile. He knew the Black Widow spoke several languages, however, this was not one of them. Hopefully she would be satisfied with his answer and leave the matter be. 

There was no reason for her to know the translation. 

T’Challa maneuvered the controls and instantaneously the miraculous drive system rocketed then into the sky. Only the little ship’s inertial dampening system protected them from the terrible force of their acceleration. 

The scenery out the viewscreen was immediately a blur and Natasha actually gasped before catching herself.

T’Challa smiled: At least she would be preoccupied for the moment he reasoned. 

———-

It was only later, over a lovely dinner overlooking the crystal blue Mediterranean that the topic resurfaced. 

T’Challa returned from the restroom to find Natasha staring at her phone. She looked both amused and delighted and immediately tried to conceal it. “So, I was just speaking with your sister.” 

Of course she had the phone number. 

“Shuri tells me that you have a pet name for the Talon which roughly translates to ‘The Lovely Spy.’”

T’Challa looked away out to the sea. Sisters. 

And he was aware that his companion was still regarding him with a smile.

“And do you know many spies then? spies you find lovely?”

“I think your plate is getting cold.”

“I think you’re dodging.”

“I might know a great many spies.”

“Really? A great many?”

“Several.”

“And, how many of them do you find ‘lovely?’”

She teased him, drawing out the last word and leaning in.

“Admittedly few. They are an insufferable lot, generally.”

“Oh, I see. But perhaps there’s one who catches your eye?”

“There might be.” He conceded, glancing out over the water. Two sails were tacking in tandem.

“I see. And..have you told this spy of your feelings for her?”

“I have an idea she might suspect it.”

T’Challa watched Natasha blush. And then she was moving her chair closer. 

“What if she’s patiently waiting to hear you finally tell her.”

“‘Patience’ implies she’s known for a while.”

“Well, she is a spy, I suppose.” Natasha conceded sipped her drink.

“So really I would just be confirming her intel.”

“I suppose you could call it whatever you like. But when do you think you’ll do it?” Her eyes flashed. 

“I believe I’m buying her breakfast. Perhaps then.”

“I might recommend breakfast in bed then...” Natasha glanced out over the sparkling blue sea where two sailboats were sailing together and smiled when T’Challa signaled the waiter.

.

**Author's Note:**

> As always comments, critique, and suggestions are appreciated.


End file.
